


How Far Luck May Travel

by pseudofaux



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: (kenshin can read?!), F/M, Julie Appreciation Day!, communication is crucial folks, modern/destiny end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Kagetora is (like) a flower fairy prince. How to feel worthy of someone like that?





	How Far Luck May Travel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeweledleaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeweledleaves/gifts).



> This was for Julie Appreciation Day over on tumblr, celebrating sengokugenki girl, who is very easy to appreciate! She writes incredible SLBP and DtL fiction and you should take a look and bless yourself. :)

Beside you on the couch, Kagetora hummed in that particular way. When he wasn’t waxing poetic or lecturing students on flowers, he communicated mostly through touch, smiles, and hums.

You’d never been quite able to shake how much he reminded you of a fairy prince from a storybook you’d loved as a girl. Fingers long, hair a fall of glimmering silk, smile satisfied and mysterious. Even when he opened himself to you, when the sweet cobalt of his eyes met and held yours, when he was shuddering and connected to you as deeply as possible… there was something otherworldly and vaguely removed about this man. You’d catch him in your breakfast nook, a mug half tea and half syrup held still as he stared beyond the birds hopping on the fenceline. He would sort through flower stems on the table after your weekly trip to the farmer’s market, murmuring words you could never make out— when you’d asked him, sometime last year, charmed and lovedrunk on his every gesture, he’d given you a smile and a kiss sweeter than his tea, and you’d gone off giggling. It was hours before you realized he might have been trying to avoid the question.

There was definitely something of a lonely, beyond-the-now quality about the flower prince you loved. It concerned you from time to time. But it never made you stop loving him. Many nights, when you were sleepy or sex-sated in his arms, you’d trail your own fingers over the handsome swells of his chest– for a florist, he spent a lot of time chasing the wind, sprinting along every running path in the city– and you’d fall asleep dreaming of what your lives together would be like in a few years. In many years. You hoped you would be lucky enough to find out.

Luck, that was really what it came down to. Was it luck that someone like him would be with someone like you? You were a graduate student, dreamy on the inside, practical on the outside. You were cute, you knew it on your good days, but your looks weren’t those of a fairy princess. Could you ever match this fairy prince? The thought hovered in your mind through a busy summer, never quite a full-fledged worry but never quite settled, either.

“Kagetora,” you said softly, when he hummed but didn’t elaborate. You were both inside and freshly showered after time spent gardening together. You were hoping the brim of your sun hat had been wide enough to protect the base of your neck; the sun had made for sweaty work, but you’d enjoyed cold sweet tea from a thermos and peaceful shamisen music from Kagetora’s little bluetooth speaker as you tended to the flower beds. It made you smile now to think of how delighted he’d been when you gave it to him at Christmas. He’d proclaimed it a special treasure and you had kissed him and expected it would go into the guest room like so many other cherished items… but he used it daily. “Magic,” he’d say, with a wide, peaceful smile as he nodded in time with the beeps that signaled his phone was connected to the device. “Wonderful. Thank you, my darling.”

Now you were both clean and dressed in light cotton tunics. He was here on the couch with you, looking at some guide to color theory, humming.

“Kagetora,” you repeated, touching his arm gently. He turned to you, eyebrows up, expression guileless.“Why are you humming?” you asked.

He hummed again, and laughed when he realized. You smiled, committed to waiting out his whimsy this time. He didn’t make you wait long at all.

“I was thinking of you,” he said, pulling out the jacket flap of the book and closing it gently around the place marker. “Reading about the peach pink of roses, and thinking of you.”

Well, that was quite an answer. What on earth could you say to that? Your eyes went to your shoulder, pleased and not wanting to show how much.

“Like… here,” he said, fingertips brushing the apple of your cheek. When your eyes went back to his face, he looked well pleased. His deep blue eyes were narrowed from his smile, and you recognized the subtle glint of hunger in them. You felt it, too, the pull within your body, always so happy to be close to him.

The connectedness of the moment raised your hand and loosened your tongue. Fingers gently landing on his cheekbone and sweeping back into his hair, you confessed, “You feel so far away sometimes– please don’t go so far you don’t come back.”

Even his blinking was that of ethereal royalty.

“Never,” he swore soothingly, fingers moving to trace the shell of your ear. He brought himself to you as he pulled you closer by the back of your head, your heart thumping so loudly you could hear it over the sounds of you both shifting on the couch.

“There are many wonders in this world,” Kagetora breathed against your lips, the words making kisses of contact between you. “I like to see them. But you are my favorite.”

He showed you, slowly, over the afternoon. He was so attentive you were dizzied, blinking in the lazy, torturous bliss he gave you. Every time you called his name he stopped what he was doing to kiss you and murmur love and promises right against your mouth, right into your soul. He made them specific, too, even mentioning the time you’d caught him staring at the birds. He didn’t want to go anywhere he couldn’t return from. Returning to you was the best part. He loved your sweetness and your spirit, your touch and your taste.

By the time night fell you felt like your skin must be glowing, and that you were a fit consort for the flower fairy you loved, after all. He had convinced you.

You still caught him gazing into the distance. In fact, it happened more frequently after that passionate afternoon of declarations and promises. But now you could step next to him and slide your fingers between his, and even if he didn’t look at you his expression would gentle. He would squeeze your hand. And he’d mouth “Hello, my favorite,” and eventually tell you what he was looking at, or for. You never had to press.

He had convinced you, indeed, and it unlocked some new magic between you. You began to let him in on your dreams, and he reveled in every admission, dreaming with you as much as you could, well, _dream_. He’d open your wishful thoughts up farther and wider, introducing you to possibilities you might never have considered without the gentle encouragement of his total disregard for rules or expense.

He was an odd, beautiful man. Perhaps there was something of the fairy about him. He could wander without leaving, but he never went so far he didn’t come back. You had many years together to learn what your lives would be like, and you had to marvel at the luck of that. But every night of those years, when your bodies were close and your whispers wound your souls together, you knew that unworthiness could never have brought you so far.


End file.
